Lights will guide you home
by ferggirl99
Summary: AU: Felicity and Tommy deal with the aftermath of the earthquake in the Glades. (follow-up fic to The Days That Never Came, but since it's so AU, I made it separate. rated for language.) Will be multi-chapter.
1. When it all came crashing down

**A/N:** Hey, guys. I've had MASSIVE computer problems the last few weeks, which is why I'm so behind on everything, including thank yous and posting and such. But I have a few chapters of this written (I got lots of "please don't end it there" requests after posting The Days That Never Came, and was browbeaten into listening to them) so that should be lovely. I hope you like it.

* * *

**Ch 1: When it all came crashing down**

* * *

_They should all die like she died._

His father's crazed voice rang in his ears over and over. He'd had his moments of doubt as to his father's character, but never of his sanity. Not until today. He'd never forget the look in Malcolm Merlyn's eyes. It had been absolute surety that this destruction was right and just, and the expectation that Tommy would agree.

_Get to safety_, Oliver had said, as he left to try to do with force what Tommy had been unable to do with words.

He'd meant to. This wasn't his fight, there wasn't anything he could do. He'd herded his father's employees downstairs, away from the danger and told them to close up and go home. And then he'd stood on the street corner and realized that he didn't know where to go.

_Home?_ To sit and wait for his crazed father to come home with the blood of the city and his best friend on his hands?

He wished, for a moment, that he'd snagged Felicity's phone number. She seemed like a good person to have in a crisis. And if he couldn't have Laurel, her shotgun, and her 3-inch stilettos... Tommy could see her in his mind, wind blowing her hair and classic superhero stance: Laurel Lance, defender of the Glades.

The Glades. _Laurel._

Tommy couldn't breathe for a moment as the realization hit. When he finally managed a gasping, panicked breath, he dug desperately in his pocket for his phone and dialed her number.

It rang, but with a beep at the end that suggested she was on the other line. After three rings, he got her voicemail.

…_you've reached Laurel Lance. Please leave me a message with your name and contact information and I'll return it as soon as possible. Have a nice day._

"Laurel! God, you never check these damn messages. You're not in the Glades right now, are you? You need to – didn't you see the news? Please get out of there. _Please._" His voice cracked and he jabbed at the button to end the call. Laurel saw herself as a captain of her little pro-bono legal aid center, and Tommy knew she'd never leave without making sure all employees, and as many case files as possible, were safe.

He shot a glance up at the imposing height of Merlyn Global. Somewhere up there, Oliver and his father were fighting over the fate of them all.

Setting his jaw, he turned in the direction of the Glades. He wouldn't let Laurel be collateral damage.

* * *

When it all came crashing down, she was utterly alone.

She could hear Oliver through the comm, but it was scratchy, and she knew the connection wasn't going to hold for long.

"Felicity, are you ok?"

"Yeah," she said as the Foundry shook around her. It wasn't exactly a lie, more of a half-truth. She wasn't physically injured, and she planned on hiding under the steel table if the shaking got worse.

But she was terrified.

"The damage seems to be contained on the east side," she said, doing her best to read the flickering computer screens, "past Wall Street."

There was silence for a minute and then she heard Oliver's voice again, just a breathy whisper.

"_Laurel._"

Felicity ripped the comm out of her ear and flung it into her purse. And even though she should know better, even though Tommy Merlyn had just reminded her that this was the only way it would end, she felt the tears falling.

* * *

Tommy was, well, he was good and truly _fucked_.

It had been panic and adrenaline and love that had given him the strength to life the column off of Laurel. With her safely out the door, he didn't know how to put it down without crushing his own leg.

So he was standing, his body shaking with effort, tears streaming down his face, and contemplating the end. Another rumble brought more of the building down around him and he could feel the concrete slipping from his bloody hands.

He shut his eyes, trying to prepare for the pain that was coming when his grip finally failed and he didn't move quickly enough to get out of the way. And then the weight disappeared.

His eyes snapped open to see a grimacing, green-clad Oliver heaving the column to the side. It landed with a crash and a few pieces of rebar protruded menacingly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Oliver's voice was distorted, lower than usual, but the overbearing growl was recognizable.

"Just thought I'd go for a stroll, see what Daddy wrought in Starling City," Tommy snapped, glaring across the destroyed office into the darkness of the Hood.

"Jesus, Tommy," Oliver sighed, pushing his hood back and hitting something on his chest to cancel out the voice modifier, "I'm just glad you're ok." He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Oliver's blue eyes so serious.

The ground shook again, the never-ending aftershocks leaving nowhere in the Glades safe. Tommy felt curiously invincible, standing there with Oliver in his superhero getup. There was no logic to it since Oliver couldn't exactly shoot arrows at falling debris. He wiped his raw, bloody hands on his suit pants and looked around for a clear exit.

"Someone had to be the hero, right?" he joked half-heartedly, because Oliver had come too. _For Laurel._ Would he have come if he'd known it was Tommy he'd be saving?

Oliver didn't crack a smile, but answered the unasked question. "Laurel's clear. I saw her when I pulled up. Tommy, you need to get out of here," Oliver's gaze was fixed on the ceiling, which was… Tommy stared. Was it _rippling_? Should concrete be able to do that?

"Point the way, arrow-boy," he agreed. Screw invincible. He'd prefer to see sky above his head right about now.

* * *

She eventually put the damn comm back in, of course. She'd just needed a few minutes to herself, to come to terms with her relative importance in the grand scheme of things. Felicity retrieved it from her bag, shielding herself and her tablet under the arrow table that held Oliver's gear.

When she slipped it into her ear, it exploded into noise.

"..can't get an answer. Did you try her phone?"

"Towers are down or overloaded. Can you get there, Oliver?"

"On my way."

Their obvious concern made her feel guilty for her moment of selfish heartbreak.

"Guys? It's ok, I'm ok," she said, wiping at her eyes. "Can you hear me? Oliver? Digg?"

Static was her only answer. She pulled the little device off and peered through the dim dusty air at the wires. Fiddling with the red one that should connect the transmitter, she tried again.

"Can you hear me?"

"Felicity," Oliver's voice was unmistakably relieved. "What happened? I'm almost to Verdant."

"I'm ok, must have squished the wires when I dove for cover, but it's fine. It's a nice strong table. You can save other people, I'm good," she hurried to reassure him. Really, it wasn't that far to the door. The stairs made her a little nervous, because she'd seen them sway a few times already. But she could do it.

"Digg's orders," she could hear the smile in his voice. It wasn't fair really, how was she supposed to avoid feelings when _she could hear the smile in his voice_? "You're next on the saving list."

"Oh, well if it's for Digg." She swallowed a gasp when the floor shook and the lights finally went out. She heard a few bulbs shatter as they hit the floor, and then something heavy landed above her head, denting the table she was under. The comm was dead, its power source a casualty of the surge that had just knocked out the club's electricity.

The darkness was full of sharp edges and choking concrete dust. She huddled in place, afraid to leave the relative safety of the table for the actual safety of the outdoors. For just a moment, she wondered how her death would be explained, if she was found in the basement of the club. Would she be the IT girl who took months to set up a network for a dance club?

_Well, if I'm going to die, at least I got to kiss one of the billionaire boys first._ The thought surprised her, and she grimaced at its triteness.

"That was just melodramatic, Smoak."

The sound of her own voice seemed to unfreeze her. Felicity wiped the dust off her glasses and peered through the darkness. The backup generator was rumbling on, but it was meant for the club itself. Clearly they had neglected to hook the comms up to it. One or two flickering bulbs were the extent of its reach down here. She could just make out enough to attempt a run for it.

Slipping her tablet into her purse to protect it as much as possible from the dust, she waited until the latest aftershock ran its course and then darted out into the open. Her open-toed flats didn't offer much protection and she tripped twice over shadowy debris, skinning her knees and hands. She had just reached the stairs when the door was flung open.

Illuminated in the emergency lighting from the club's hallway, his hood up and bow in hand, Oliver looked every inch the hero. Felicity stopped, just for a moment, to appreciate the view.

Then the shaking started again. She dashed up the swaying stairs, feeling small pieces of concrete rain down on her.

"Time to go, Felicity," he growled, reaching out to haul her up the last few steps. He glanced at her shoes and then at the amount of broken glass on the floor in Verdant. Before she could process what was happening, he'd swung her up into his arms and was striding through the club, shattered liquor bottles crunching beneath his boots.

Her very own rescue. Flowy dress not required.

Sparks arced from a downed wire and another aftershock slammed them into a wall. She felt something dig into her cheek as Oliver cursed and fought to regain his footing.

When they got outside, Felicity knew their world had changed forever. The damage had looked bad from satellite view, through the safety of a computer screen. Standing in the Verdant parking lot, she could hear the screams of the people running through the streets, and the fires that so often follow earthquakes were already casting a ghostly glow over the ruined buildings.

Oliver was grim and silent on the way to her apartment. He was also bleeding from the shoulder, something she realized when she put her arms around him in order to stay on the back of his motorcycle. He shrugged off her protestations that he should be in a hospital, but came inside long enough to check that her security was still up. Felicity convinced him to let her clean and bandage the wound before he left again.

Then she was alone.

So this was what being rescued felt like? It was better as a fantasy.

* * *

For a week, Starling City held its breath. The list of the missing and dead grew into the hundreds, and everyone who had survived hunkered down with their friends and loved ones. The police and newspapers had no time for the vigilante. Rumors flew in coffee shops and chatrooms, ranging from those who believed that he was in league with Merlyn or to those who claimed he was wandering the Glades and rescuing survivors. All stories seemed to be second hand.

City officials and business leaders came together to denounce the Undertaking and pronounce in solemn tones that they would never forget, that justice would be served, that all efforts were underway to help those affected.

Those who believed them breathed easier. Those who had felt abandoned by their city for years found it harder to trust that this time would be different. They waited for a champion of their own.

* * *

**A/N:** Whew. So what did you think? Sticking with the super happy feel of the original, as you can see. There will be some actual Flommy (Felicity and Tommy! It's the only ship name I will ever accept) interaction in the next chapter, just need to edit it and make it pretty.


	2. Alone in the dark

**A/N:** You're all lovely. I know that the last chapter was basically me laying the groundwork for an actual story. So here's some Flommy for you. (Yes, I know it should be Felommy, but that doesn't roll off the tongue the same way.) It hasn't been beta'd, so any and all errors are my own fault for wanting to get it to you sooner rather than later.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Alone in the dark**

* * *

Felicity was tired. She'd spent the last several days with a Queen Consolidated volunteer team, trying to reestablish communications networks in any parts of the Glades that were accessible. The survivors of the quake were shell shocked, most based in temporary housing on the outskirts of the city, and all of them wanted to go home as soon as possible. She couldn't shake a heavy feeling of responsibility, and so when the email looking for volunteers had gone out, she'd jumped at the opportunity to speed the recovery.

It was hard, physical work. She'd worn the same sweatshirt and jeans all week, and her sneakers were caked in dust and grime. But every time they got another building connected to the telephone and internet again, she felt a little closer to whole.

At least she was doing something. It was a mantra she repeated to herself over and over when she was tempted to just stay hidden and warm in her bed each morning. That wouldn't be a problem tomorrow, since she suspected she wasn't actually going to close her eyes tonight.

She'd stumbled across a body today.

Her hands shook as she pushed open the door and came into the dimly lit bar.

Her project leader had asked her to check that the wiring was intact at the back of a building, and she'd found a collapsed wall with a very noticeable smell. And then she'd seen an arm extending from the rubble.

The police operator who answered her call had sounded even more tired than she was. The building was added to a list, and the next available cop was sent to mark the door so teams would know there was a body. She'd waited on the front steps for four hours before the cruiser finally arrived.

Felicity had felt empty as her group packed up and moved to another, supposedly clear, location. When they finished for the day she'd checked her phone, as usual, but there was nothing from either Oliver or Diggle. They were busy, distracted by others who needed them more.

She knew if she went home it would be to stare blankly at muted television news. Or she'd try not to spend all night researching residents of the building who were still missing, looking for someone whose arm she might have seen.

So she'd come to the bar instead.

Maybe if she had a few drinks, she'd be able to sleep.

* * *

He found himself in the bar again a week later. After a week of crushing isolation and numbness, he'd needed to take a breath, have a drink. And he'd thought of this bar and the smart blonde who'd been there last week before his entire life fell apart. But Tommy had never expected her to be here.

Her blond hair was scraped back into a ponytail, and he could see healing scrapes and bruises on her neck from where he stood a few feet behind her.

No one had really escaped that day unscathed, he knew, flexing his own scarred hands. Not even the idealistic IT girl. She looked rough and a little dirty. He wondered if she was volunteering in the Glades somewhere.

He hadn't seen her since his parting kiss and blithe assurance that the Merlyns were not trying to destroy the city. It felt like years ago.

Tommy hesitated for a long minute, his last conversation with Laurel battling that innocent and sweet kiss for his attention. He wasn't entirely sure that he should go over and join her. But Laurel needed space and time. He had felt so alone all week. And Felicity was one of a handful of people in Starling City who actually understood what had happened, what he was going through.

He decided.

"Come here often?" He tried to sound lighthearted as he slid onto the stool next to her. It was early and the bar was virtually empty. She turned to look at him, and an angry red scrape on her cheek jumped out at him.

Laurel had had similar injuries when he'd seen her. Bruises on her legs where she'd been pinned, scrapes on her hands and face.

"Well I have no official job and nowhere to hang out at night," she grimaced and toasted the air with her half-full beer bottle, "so yeah, actually."

He squinted at her, knowing the signs of intoxication better than most. She didn't look all that drunk, though, more withdrawn and lonely. It made him sad.

"You and me both, kid," he sighed, thinking of the mess waiting for him at Merlyn Global.

Tommy had been buffeted from one meeting to the next, dealing with interviews, interrogations, executive boards and federal investigators. His home was a crime scene, his office was a crime scene, and although he hadn't really been alone for days, he hadn't felt this at sea since Oliver had disappeared off the coast of China.

He'd seen Oliver only a handful of times since his best friend had pulled him out of the rubble of CNRI and shoved him in the direction of Laurel's arms. They'd held a joint press conference, a public apology of sorts for their parents. Oliver's mother was in jail. Tommy's father, well he was probably dead. But he wasn't where Oliver had left him, so no one was sure.

They sure as hell hadn't talked about anything.

The bartender walked up, a good-looking redhead who recognized him instantly. He had a vague memory of her working across town, at one of his old haunts. She went to pull down the black label, but he waved her off and ordered a beer. He'd had quite enough whiskey to last him a month or two, and if he was going to rebuild his life and fight for Laurel, he needed to be more sober. _Soberer. Soberish?_ Something like that.

* * *

Tommy and Felicity sat without talking for a few minutes, listening to the familiar drone of news on the televisions behind the bar. The bartender had moved away to the other end of the bar, serving an older man something fruity with an umbrella in it.

The silence stretched, and Felicity wasn't sure how to break it.

_So what have you been up to since your father killed hundreds of people and disappeared mysteriously?_

No, probably not.

_Hey, want to hear about the dead body I found today?_

A little morbid for a conversation starter.

_So are the only two people we have in common still having sex?_

That wasn't a great option either.

"I, uh, I saw your press conference."

It wasn't much, but at least she'd offered something, anything to talk about. She felt him shift next to her, and when she looked he was staring into the bottom of his beer bottle.

"What did you think?"

"It was nice that you and Oliver did it together," she said. "People were reassured. You looked like friends."

"At least that worked, then," he muttered, and she wished she'd said something more generic. It was probably too soon to bring Oliver into the conversation.

They drank steadily, but stuck to light beer and minimal conversation. Felicity couldn't deny that she was more relaxed with him sitting beside her. Alone, she had been constantly checking her phone or keeping an eye open for possible creeps.

She let her mind wander, and put Oliver on the stool next to hers instead of Tommy. Would it feel different? Would he remember what he'd said, all those weeks ago, about being there if she needed someone to talk to?

She wasn't sure. She'd seen him, once. He had come by to check on her when the city implemented rolling blackouts to conserve power. They'd talked then about Diggle in the hospital, about Thea and her boyfriend who were being hailed as heroes, about Queen Consolidated and bringing Walter in to take the helm temporarily. But when she'd asked about Laurel, he'd gone quiet. And he had avoided her questions about his mother and his vigilante work.

She hadn't brought up Tommy. She already knew what a touchy subject that was.

They never made it to the part of the conversation where he asked what she was doing with her days. He'd gotten a call and hurried off to lend his face to another relief event.

The distance between them hadn't felt so wide in months. Not since she'd first realized that _the Oliver Queen_ was standing in her office, lying through his teeth to her.

Tommy ordered another round for the two of them, and she smiled gratefully when the cold beer slid across the bar to her.

Then the lights went out.

* * *

Tommy used to hate the dark. Now he welcomed it. It was soothing, knowing that you were hidden from the world, that others felt as lost as you did. In a strange way, it connected you to everyone else.

You were all just alone in the dark.

It took him a minute to notice that Felicity did not feel the same way. First he felt her stiffen beside him, and then her breathing sped up noticeably.

Down the other end of the bar, a candle flared up a small pool of light. He could see the outline of Felicity's face as she turned sharply, hungrily in the direction of the glow.

"Felicity." He reached out, touching her shoulder gently. She flinched away with a small cry as another candle pierced the gloom. This one was closer, and it lit her with a soft golden hue that revealed just how far into panic she'd slipped.

Tommy moved on instinct, around her and more into the light. Her eyes found his then, but they were lost and scared. For a moment, he saw Thea, 7 years old and interrupting her brother's sleepover in tears because she'd heard a noise from her closet.

But this was a woman, a strong woman who'd stared him down on one of his darkest days and made him smile. If she was afraid of the dark, it wasn't a child's worry.

"Felicity, what happened? Where were you when," he swallowed, not sure how to put it, "uh, during the earthquake?"

She blinked, and seemed surprised to see him standing there.

"What?"

"Were you at home with no power? When the quake hit?"

Light from another candle sprang up near them. The candles created the illusion of intimacy, flickering puddles of safety with the darkness around them muting the sounds of the rest of the bar.

"Uh, no, not at home. Verdant," she said, still sounding a little breathless.

He didn't need to press her more to understand. If she'd been at Verdant, she'd been downstairs, in the basement. He hadn't been over to see that damage, but he had heard the club had taken quite a hit. And when he'd had the backup generator installed, he hadn't put much effort into lighting the basement.

"You were alone." He didn't phrase it as a question, because he knew the answer. Oliver and his bodyguard had come to Merlyn Global. As far as he knew, that was the team. She'd been on her own.

"Yeah." Her whisper was haunted.

He reached out and brushed a hand down her uninjured cheek. "I'm sorry." And he really was. Both he and Oliver had gone running to Laurel. Had anyone run to Felicity?

She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she reopened them she'd calmed herself.

"It's fine. They came and got me, eventually." She smiled, but there was strain behind it. "There was a very nice table that I'm going to have to save and put in my living room, I think. Once I get the dent out."

Tommy just stared at her for a minute before letting his mouth slide into a small smile. Of course she'd want to keep the table that had saved her life.

"You are really remarkable, Felicity," he said, shaking his head. She shot him another one of her unreadable looks and turned back to her beer.

She was in profile, the candle creating a halo effect in her blonde hair. That kiss ran through his mind as he watched her raise her bottle to her lips. In his mind, he was stepping closer, setting the beer to the side, and turning her back to face him.

But then his mind introduced spectators. Oliver, with a look of betrayal that Tommy really didn't think he'd earned. Laurel, with eyes that asked if this was her punishment, if he hadn't really meant it when he'd said he loved her.

Tommy sat, curled his hands around his beer and waited for his heart to slow.

* * *

_This was just getting weird_. Were the two men that similar that they would both choose that word to describe her? Was she analyzing an innocent comment in a totally irrational way?

Felicity glanced at his profile as her panic receded, driven away by the candlelight and Tommy's concern. He seemed angrier than he had, earlier. And for a minute there, she'd thought he might be about to kiss her again.

"So what are you doing?"

His words caught her in the middle of reminiscing, and she choked a little on her beer.

"Sorry?"

"I've never seen you in a sweatshirt or sneakers. You look like you've been moving rubble," he said, raising an eyebrow at her dusty ensemble. He was, of course, somehow still immaculate. "Are you moving rubble while you wait for Queen Consolidated to call you back to work?"

"OH. No," she was relieved that her thoughts weren't quite that transparent. "They organized a group of us to help with reconnecting phone and cable and such in any buildings that are habitable."

"Isn't that the phone company's job?"

"They're a little understaffed," she said. "And it's nice to have something to do besides watch tv." She waved her beer bottle in the direction of the now dark television screens.

He nodded, but then his eyebrows drew together and he turned back to face her.

"How many buildings are actually clear? Isn't it too soon for you to be in there?"

_A pile of rubble. An arm. _For a second she could smell death again. Felicity closed her eyes and forced down the bile that rose to her throat.

"There have been a few that weren't ready," she said thickly. It seemed that neither of them breathed while her words dissipated into the darkness. She was surprised to feel his arm settle lightly across her shoulders.

He didn't say anything. Didn't apologize, didn't ask. He just squeezed gently.

Her first hug in days. Tears sprang to her eyes and she hurried to hide them behind her beer.

When the lights came back on, it suddenly felt too bright in the mostly empty bar. Tommy pulled his arm back, and Felicity wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She glanced at her phone and was surprised to find it after 10 pm.

"I should get going," she mumbled, feeling the exhaustion of the last few days weigh down her limbs.

Tommy nodded, and then sat up straighter.

"Wait, wait," he looked around. "This whole block is still restricted. How did you get here?"

Felicity was tired and sore and a little emotionally raw, so she failed to hide the irritation in her tone. "I have feet, I walked. Now I'm going to walk home."

"No way," he shook his head a little too emphatically for her liking.

"Ok, then I'm going to fly. But I'll be doing it now," she groused, sliding off her stool.

Tommy seemed to realize he was being overbearing and stood up, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, I didn't mean… It's all blocked off down here because it isn't safe. I just don't think you should walk alone."

"Well my superhero escort is… otherwise occupied, recently," she bit out, wondering if she would have called Oliver before the earthquake. Before he chose Laurel and pulled away.

_Nah, probably Diggle._ But he was still recovering from the beating Malcolm Merlyn had given him, and she didn't want to bother him.

"If you'll accept a poor substitute," Tommy bowed with a little flourish, but his ironic tone told her he thought he knew which friend she'd prefer.

She looked at the top of his dark head, and realized that she wasn't sure he was right.

* * *

It wasn't very far, only a couple of blocks. But they were empty and dark, and he was glad she'd given in and allowed him to come along.

"I heard," she started, but stopped herself suddenly. Tommy glanced at her, an eyebrow raised in encouragement. "It's nothing. I'm not very good company right now."

Her expressive face didn't hide much, and Tommy bit his curious tongue and waited while she thought through what to say.

"Uh, so, Laurel's ok?" she asked finally. "It's just, Oliver wasn't exactly talkative last time I saw him. Between his mother, and his sister disappearing for a few days with her boyfriend… then he went to the hospital and showed up with his 'I don't want to talk about it' face on."

Laurel was staying at her father's place right now, and had told him she needed time and space to sort out her feelings when they had finally gotten a moment alone in the hospital. She must have told Oliver something similar.

Tommy looked down at his feet. "She's ok. With her dad, and, uh, thinking about things."

Felicity's eyes were sharp on his. "Ouch."

"Yep." They turned a corner in silence. After a moment, he looked at her. "I suppose you're nobly rooting for whatever makes him happy?"

She laughed, the unexpected sound bringing a brief smile to his face. "No, nope. Not me. I think they're both crazy." She shook her head, and puffed out her cheeks contemplatively. Tommy was struck again by her honesty, and found he still liked it. "I didn't know him then, but I remember thinking when the story broke about the yacht and the Lance sisters that it was all some sick joke."

"That's one way to put it," he said grimly.

"It just seemed so cowardly, that was what hit me when it all came out. Not just Oliver, but Sarah Lance, too. And he's not like that now, he really isn't. But I still don't understand how she can stand to be in the same room as him."

They both took a moment to consider that. Tommy knew he should still be angry. Had it really been just one week ago that he'd seen Oliver and Laurel… together? But he didn't have the energy for anger. They had all faced death that night. Oliver had saved his life, even if he had likely killed his father.

"Secrets aside, Oliver would forever be in the wrong. How could they handle that hanging over them for the rest of their lives?" Felicity mused before straightening and looking chagrined. "Dammit. I must be more drunk than I thought, I mean… sorry. It's none of my business."

Tommy had told Laurel he loved her. She hadn't answered him yet.

No, it wasn't anger he was feeling, just a horrible sense of certainty that no matter what, he'd still be second best. And if he was honest, a deep-rooted fear that he had already lost his two best friends.

He chanced a look at Felicity, and found her watching him with a concerned look on her face.

"Listen, I don't know you very well," she sighed.

"That's usually the start of a lecture," he teased, letting a half smile soften the edge in his voice.

She bit her bottom lip. "No, just a suggestion," she said, her expression asking if she should continue.

He shrugged and nodded. _Why not?_

"You should talk to him."

"Him? Oliver?"

"Yeah."

"Why would I do that?"

"He needs to know where he stands with you. Probably even more than he does Laurel."

Tommy stared at her uncomprehending. "More than Laurel? Maybe you don't know him as well as I thought. Nothing and no one matters more than Laurel Lance to Oliver Queen."

She looked away for a moment and he regretted his hard tone. But she composed herself quickly.

"Maybe you're right. But he's been steeling himself for her rejection from the moment he got back. I honestly, I think he expects to fail but he can't help trying."

Tommy found himself very interested in the streetlight up ahead. He didn't know how to feel about the turn this had taken.

Her hand on his arm was enough of a surprise that he stopped and looked back at her.

"He never expected to lose you," her voice was soft. "And finding himself in the middle of this thing with your father and his mother…"

"He put himself in the middle of that." Tommy was surprised at how emotionless his voice was, considering the muted mess of rage, sorrow, and emptiness that battled inside him. But she'd made her point.

She slowed to a stop in front of a brownstone, digging out her key. When she'd found it, she looked back up at him.

"I just mean, Laurel's got choices to make. She has to sort out her emotions, clearly," he could hear her fighting to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, and despite his love for Laurel, it was balm to his battered heart. It was interesting and painful, he thought, to discover just how unhappy you could be with someone you loved so much. "But Oliver, he's been a mess ever since you and he… I don't know, do friends break up?"

He shrugged. She smiled.

"Well, whatever you call it." She looked around at her door. "I'm done giving unsolicited advice for the evening."

Tommy watched her climb the steps up to her door, hands in his pockets. She slid the key in and then turned around to give him a wave. She looked lighter than she had when he'd found her in the bar.

"Felicity," he called, and she paused, eyebrows up expectantly. "If I say I'll think about it, will you do something for me?"

She cocked her head to one side, looking tired, adorable and slightly annoyed. "Depends, obviously."

"Call me sometime, and let's do this on purpose," he said with a wink. She rolled her eyes and went inside.

Tommy turned toward the hotel he was using while the house was a crime scene. He only looked back once, to see a light come on in a third-floor window.

Maybe he had lost his two best friends. Maybe his father was dead. And maybe it wasn't going to be the end of the world.

* * *

**A/N:** This was hard. I'm desperate to know what you think. Did I manage to keep them in character? Don't you think Tommy would give great hugs? Can we all just raise a glass for a moment to Colin Donnell's magnificent eyes?


	3. Before the Dawn

**A/N: **God this chapter gave me fits. I love every piece of it, but making them feel like a cohesive whole... I struggled. I hope I managed to give you something worth reading! Let me know if all the worry was worth it.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Before the Dawn**

* * *

It was 5 am when her cell phone rang, the midi melody jarring her from a troubled sleep. Felicity scrambled in her pitch black room to answer it before she missed the call. The hope of an order to come back to work warred with the fear of something happening to Oliver or Diggle without the protection of the lair and its top-notch technology.

"Yeah, hi? Hello?"

"Ms. Smoak? Quentin Lance here."

She wasn't expecting Detective Lance. She should have been, but in the madness that had followed their failure, once his safety was established, Felicity had put him from her mind.

There were several reasons he could be calling, and none of them were especially positive.

"Detective, you sound fully recovered. What can I do for you this very early morning?"

There was a long pause, and she heard the noise of the precinct filtering through his end of the call. The rest of the city might be frozen in fear, but the police force had to carry on.

Finally, he answered in a low voice. "I have a few questions for you. Questions I'd rather not ask over the phone."

She swallowed. The last time they'd met in person he'd threatened her with criminal charges for aiding and abetting the vigilante. She wasn't exactly eager to repeat the experience.

"Is this an official request?" If the police had issued some kind of warrant, she'd have to tell Diggle and Oliver, give them time to cover their tracks.

"No, not official." His voice dropped further, and she strained to make it out against the background noise. "But important. Why don't you stop by for dinner? My daughter makes a mean lasagna on Thursdays."

Her stomach dropped. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, sir."

"Be there at 6:30, Ms. Smoak." He disconnected and she stared at her cell phone in a panic.

* * *

_You should talk to him._

Tommy sat on his hotel bed, staring out at the pre-dawn shimmer across the horizon. He'd been up all night, alternating between anger and thoughtfulness. Felicity's words had stayed with him, and while he was tempted to break open a bottle of scotch to clear them from his head, he hadn't yet.

That was new.

He'd told her he'd think about it. Sure, he'd been bargaining, pulling out a bit of flirtatious charm to try and get a smile, but in the end it amounted to the same thing. A promise, of sorts. To think about what she'd said.

_He never expected to lose you._

Yeah? Well, Tommy had never expected everyone around him to go crazy and start shooting arrows at each other.

The sun was starting to emerge. A sliver of light escaped from behind the skyline and fell startlingly bright across his floor.

Just like the day he got the third phone call that changed his life forever. The first two had been about death – his mother, his best friend. Those he'd gotten in the dark of night, and the glare of midday. But in the early morning light last year, Thea Queen had called him in a panic.

"They found him, Tommy. TOMMY. They found him!"

It had taken time to become aware of who was on the phone and what she was saying. Confusion, disbelief, fear, all had given way to a breathless moment of absolute joy. _Oliver was alive._

He didn't see many dawns, always was more of a night owl. When he was based at the club, he was usually falling into bed in the darkness of the early morning, and even when working for his father, he'd made sure his routine hadn't required rising that early. There was something about that soft golden light that unsettled him, made him question things he knew to be true, and made him believe in things that were impossible.

Laurel was an early riser, and had tried to persuade him once or twice to get up and watch the sunrise with her. But how do you explain to the woman you love that no sunrise can match that one from last year? That secretly, your happiest moment doesn't include her?

Everything that had followed – the media circus, the welcome home party, the sense that Oliver was just not quite the same – he'd been able to bear because he had his brother back.

_He never expected to lose you._

Tommy stood abruptly, padding over to the desk and digging out a pad of logo-strewn paper. He sank to the floor beside the desk, a pen in hand.

WHAT I KNOW:

- Vigilante

- Basement at Verdant

- Felicity knows

- Diggle?

- Laurel does not

- Saved our lives, more than once

- Told me when he knew what my father was

He stared at the list, knowing he had to add one more point.

- 26 bodies with green arrows (last time I talked to Lance)

The last note loomed on the page, drowning out the hope that had sprung up inside. And then Felicity's voice rang in his ears and the rush of disbelief ebbed away.

- Haunted by what he's done

_If she'd been telling the truth… _Tommy ripped that page off and set it to the side. On a new sheet of paper, he wrote a second title.

WHAT I DON'T KNOW:

- 5 years on an island

- Learned to shoot a bow?

- Learned to fight?

- Knew something about Undertaking

- Why him?

- Why here?

- Why lie?

Tearing that sheet from the pad with grimace, Tommy looked between the two lists.

"So what do I want?" he mused out loud. Why did it feel like he had to make a choice? Oliver had asked, once, for the chance to explain. Tommy hadn't been interested.

But if he went, now, and got that explanation, he did so with the full knowledge that he was agreeing to never tell Laurel. Was he choosing Oliver over Laurel? Choosing that one glorious dawn when he'd known pure happiness over the woman who had begun to heal his heart?

He couldn't make that choice. She might be able to, but she had family who loved her, friends to fall back on. He'd only ever had the two of them.

And Oliver – who did Oliver have? He was lying to everyone he loved. That Queen facade covered some kind of tortured… what? A week ago, Tommy would have called him a madman. But he'd seen true madness in his father's eyes. Oliver wasn't mad.

But was he the hero Felicity believed in?

Could he ever be?

The clock turned over to 6:30, and the radio clicked on. It was time to start his day, sleep or no.

* * *

Felicity had her phone in her hand for most of the day, but never quite managed to click the call button. She flipped between numbers for Oliver, Diggle, and even considered dialing Tommy Merlyn. She'd dug his number up for fun out of Verdant's files last night while organizing some of the data she'd backed up for Oliver a few months ago.

But she didn't. Surely Lance wasn't looking to take the vigilante down now, not after risking his job to help them stop the attack. And he had to know that Laurel had contacted the vigilante before. Somehow, the lawyer didn't know his identity, which Felicity suspected came from being a bit too close to the whole issue.

What if Laurel had figured it out? Oliver had slept with her. He had scars everywhere, tattoos, signs that he wasn't just a mild-mannered club owner. Would she really tell her father before confronting Oliver? And if this was some kind of trap to force Felicity to confirm his identity, would it be over lasagna?

This frenzied logic had resulted in the should-I-or-shouldn't-I phone game she'd been playing all day. She trudged up the steps to her townhouse with just enough time to shower the dust off and hop in her car, phone still in hand and decision still not made.

She dropped it on the counter and it bumped up against her purse. As she watched in horror, it started dialing the last number she'd been staring down grimly.

_Oliver Queen._

"Oh, shit shit _shit_." She grabbed at it, hoping to end the call before anything got out of hand, but then she heard his voice.

"Felicity?"

Well dammit. He sounded tired, but not cold. He actually, if she didn't know better, sounded like he was happy to hear from her.

"Uh, hey, Oliver. Hi! Yeah. Hello." She felt the greetings pour out of her mouth unnecessarily, her nerves about the dinner ahead and the man on the other end of the line getting the better of her improved control.

"What's wrong?" The shift in his voice was instantaneous. She winced. Oliver would of course recognize her nerves and assume she was in some kind of danger.

"Nothing! Nope, I'm fine. Funny story, actually. Well, not that funny. I, uh, it was sort of a pocket dial and so I'll just let you…" she trailed off when he cleared his throat.

"Pocket dial?"

"Yeah. Yes. Total accident."

"I wasn't your last call, Felicity."

"What? Sure you were, it's been pretty quiet," she fibbed, hoping he'd drop it.

"I know for a fact that Diggle's heard from you twice since then."

"You do?"

"Not to mention your call to the police a few days ago."

"How did you-"

"So explain the pocket dial."

Felicity opened her mouth. And then she closed it. If she told him he'd feel the need to 'save the day' again, and as nice as that had been the first time, the role of needy damsel wasn't one she was looking to turn into a habit. She was part of this team. Well, she had been. When there was a team.

"Is there still a team, Oliver?"

"What? Felicity, don't change the subject."

"I know that it's been… I mean, I understand that nothing is the same. It can't be. And you have so much to deal with right now, and I'm sorry, but I thought we were friends, and I just need to know," she couldn't stop talking now that the words were out there. Ever since Oliver's brief visit, she'd felt like he was gearing up to cut her loose. "Are we all just taking a break or is this the part of the story where I fade back into obscurity and you tell me to have a nice life and forget it ever happened?"

It was Oliver's turn for silence. Every second it stretched longer the weight in Felicity's stomach got heavier. She heard him take a breath, and suddenly wished she hadn't asked.

"Oliver, you don't-"

"Felicity, you were never going to be obscure. You're the youngest in your pay grade at Queen Consolidated, your bosses love you. You'll be fine. You just won't be in danger."

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" The sarcasm tasted bitter on her tongue.

"No." His voice was fierce. "I was wrong. I was wrong to involve anyone else, I was wrong to think I could save this city. I have lost my parents, my best friend, and I will not sacrifice you and Diggle and Thea and, and Laurel to this insane crusade."

"It's not insane and you gave me plenty of chances to leave. I chose to stay." Felicity could feel her voice getting think as tears threatened. She straightened her shoulders and blinked furiously. No way in hell was Oliver Queen going to make her cry as he kicked her out the door.

"It doesn't matter. I'm done. It's over and I failed," he said. "Diggle will be recuperating for weeks, you're sleeping with your lights on, Thea won't even say our mother's name."

"And Malcolm Merlyn is missing."

"I stabbed him through the heart, he didn't get far. It's over. Rest, go back to work, stay out of trouble."

She bit her lip, blinking faster, and tried to sound cavalier. "You are going to owe me a lot of expensive wine when you come crawling back for a system upgrade."

She surprised a laugh out of him, but all he said was, "Be safe. Call me if you need me. I have to go."

Felicity set her phone down and sank to the bed. Why couldn't Oliver see that this wasn't about him? She wasn't putting herself in danger because of his pretty face and rock hard abs, although those were a nice perk.

She'd begun to help Walter, true. But it had become more. She'd really felt that they were helping Starling City. He was the weapon, the most effective means. But he wasn't the only one involved.

Her phone chirped an alarm at her, warning that it was already 6 pm, and she hurried to the bathroom. She'd eat her lasagna, see what Lance wanted, and then she and Diggle needed to talk about their idiot boss.

* * *

Tommy ushered the last of the suited lawyers out of the conference room reserved for Merlyn Global at the Starling Grand hotel. They were in the middle of a full audit, working as quickly as possible on the largest two or three departments in order to get employees back to work.

It appeared, so far, that his father's treachery had bled only into the upper management, and most of the day-to-day activities of the company were reassuringly innocent.

"Mr. Merlyn? Will you be needing anything else tonight?"

Doris's green eyes were shot with red, her normally effortless business attire rumpled and just slightly out of place. Every one of the long days she'd put in this week showed in her face.

Tommy sighed and reached over to take the stack of disposable coffee cups she'd been hauling to the trash can.

"No, Doris, but thanks. Go home early tonight, get some sleep."

Her black pumps clicked on the slick hotel floor as she gathered up her things. He tossed a few more dirty paper plates and looked around the empty room. The futility of this was suffocating him, this effort to not just step into his father's shoes, but to be a better version of the corporate shark who'd raised him. Tommy bent down to pick up a pen from the floor and straightened to find Doris watching him.

"Did you know I spent three years as your father's social secretary?"

His grip on the pen tightened until he heard the snap of its small plastic clip break off. "No, I didn't realize."

"You weren't doing much socializing with him at the time; it was years and years ago." She brushed at the wrinkles in her grey skirt suit before she met his eyes again. "I spent more time with your mother, really. He was an ass then, but a charming one. Even after your mother's death, I'd never have imagined this."

"Who could have imagined this?" But the answers were loud and insistent in Tommy's head. _Your father. Oliver. Moira Queen. Even Felicity tried to tell you._

"You look so much like him, it's easy for people to assume you're cut from the same cloth." She pursed her lips, and he could see her hesitation to push this conversation too far.

He'd been talking about his father all week, dealing with the fallout and the fear. But his role in the conversations had been that of a stand-in guilty party. Shareholders were angry, law enforcement was convinced he's hiding his father in his closet, and the press was out for blood.

"It's ok, Doris, go ahead." Might as well hear what his secretary was so eager to say.

"Mr. Merlyn… Tommy. I've worked for you for months now. And I consider myself uniquely qualified to say that you are, without question, your mother's son."

Tommy opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was air. His throat was so tight he wasn't sure he could get any breath back in.

"She was a woman who saw people. You may be young, you're definitely lost, but you knew my name your third day in the office." She swiped a hand under her eyes, blinking away moisture. "You want to know when your father learned my name?"

"He used that," Tommy said softly. Faces of embarrassed friends and household help raced through his head. "It was a status symbol to him. If he knew your name, you mattered in some way."

"He never bothered to get mine right," she agreed. "Three years of being called Daisy, Doreen, Delilah."

_Dinah?_ No, the Lances would not have figured on his father's radar when he was a child.

"I don't know if it helps, but I thought you should know why some of us are so ready to do whatever we can to get you and the company through this. We knew your father, to different degrees, but his fingerprints are everywhere in Merlyn Global. And those of us who are paying attention know that you and he share a name and a good tailor. That's it."

Tommy turned to look out the darkening window and tried to compose himself. Her support was more unexpected than she could know.

"You have good instincts, sir. Follow them and you'll be fine."

He pictured the two lists he'd written this morning, tucked into the frame behind Laurel's law school graduation picture.

"I wish I had your confidence in me, Doris."

"But then you would be your father's son." Her voice was firm. "Overconfidence is not something to desire. Questioning yourself is how you find your way."

"And listening to my brilliant team," he offered with a smile. She nodded and slipped on her coat.

"Exactly. Goodnight, Mr. Merlyn."

He watched her go, and then on impulse grabbed his own coat. He wasn't ready to choose. Sleep or no, he needed to see Laurel. And it _was_ Thursday.

Maybe he'd even get some lasagna.


	4. Bottle of red

**Chapter 4: Bottle of red**

* * *

Felicity was late. The address Detective Lance had given her was solidly in the suburbs. It had the faded look of a home that had once been full of life, but now served mostly as a shelter from the weather.

It bore no resemblance to the chic address in the busy neighborhood that she'd tracked Oliver to just last week. Was Laurel enjoying the quiet, or slowly going crazy? She'd find out soon enough, she reasoned, hurrying along the sidewalk. The bottle of wine she'd brought was one of the last she'd had stashed away in her own apartment. She was hoping it would soften the incredible awkwardness that was about to ensue.

"In and out, Smoak, don't let this get weird," she muttered.

The door opened before she could knock. Laurel's expression was either amused or picturing her untimely demise. Felicity figured it was a 50/50 toss-up. She'd heard about that shotgun.

"You look frazzled," the older woman said as she climbed the steps. Felicity could see scrapes and bruises from the quake, but Laurel was still intimidatingly gorgeous. "I hear you got a mysterious summons to eat food with the Lance family."

Ah. What was she supposed to tell Laurel? What had Detective Lance told Laurel? Maybe she _should_ have consulted Oliver.

"Your father and I, uh, worked together… recently." _That's convincing, Felicity._

"He told me," Laurel said, cutting bluntly through the confusion. "Without you two shutting down the first device, the damage could have been so much worse. Oh, is that a red?"

Felicity blinked, nodded, and handed over the bottle of Merlot. Where was the dramatic judgment, the accusatory glare?

She trailed Laurel to the back of the house, clutching her purse and doing her best to not look nervous.

"In the process of telling me," Laurel continued, leading her into the kitchen and offering a stool, "it may have come up that you are working with the vigilante."

There it was. The steel in her voice, the cool consideration in her eyes. This was the lawyer that everyone respected. The one who'd walked away from six figures to fix the broken system.

Felicity decided to redirect. "Do you have any glasses? That wine should breathe."

It got her a small smile.

"Above the dishwasher, let me know if you can't reach." Laurel turned back to a loaf of bread she'd apparently been in the process of slathering butter and garlic onto when Felicity arrived. Counting the reprieve as a victory of sorts, Felicity let the silence stand. She managed to snag the front two glasses on her tiptoes. She'd brought her own bottle opener, and she poured two generous glasses and set them to the side.

"Does your father drink?" she asked.

Laurel tensed and glanced over her shoulder at Felicity. Too late, Felicity recalled the public accusations of alcoholism the detective had faced after his divorce. She'd researched him, of course, but that detail had never seemed particularly relevant. Just sad.

"I was never really one for wine." The detective strode into the kitchen, ending the moment himself. He snuck a chunk of bread and deftly avoided his daughter's slap. "But it was good of you to bring some. Laurel loves it."

"Dad, you should probably tell Felicity why she's here so she can stop writing defense strategies in her head during dinner and enjoy the food," Laurel said with a fond smile. She slid the bread into the oven and checked the timer. "Dinner's in 20 minutes."

The detective looked between the two of them. "Sure, I'll do that. But that means you will have to deal with our other visitor."

"You invited someone else?" Laurel stiffened.

"Invited, no," Quentin shrugged. "But he knows our schedule. And you really should talk to him."

* * *

Tommy rang the doorbell and paced on the front step. He was hoping the nice merlot he'd brought would soften the surprise visit. It was one of Laurel's favorite vintages.

Not that he was trying to buy her love. If he could just get an invitation inside, he would do his best to win that in the traditional way: heartfelt declarations, kissing, forgiveness, apologies.

Because as hurt as he'd been that she'd slept with Oliver, he owed her an apology for his "I know best" decision to walk away.

He was about to ring the bell again when the door flew open. There she was.

"Tommy." He couldn't read much from her expression, but she didn't exactly seem unhappy to see him. More generally uncomfortable. The bruises were fading, but it was still jarring to see how badly she'd been hurt.

"Hi," he said, unable to stop the fond smile that crept onto his face. God it was good to see her. "Look, I know it's lasagna night, and I don't mean to intrude-"

"And yet," she said with a shake of her head, "here you are."

She stepped out and closed the door behind her. Not a good sign. Neither was the fact that she had a wine glass in her hand already. Her father definitely didn't keep wine in the house. Tommy took a deep breath.

"Yeah, here I am." He sheepishly set the bottle of wine on the stoop so his hands were free. "Laurel, I don't know much right now. My father... and this mess with Oliver." He sighed. This wasn't what he wanted to talk about.

"Tommy, I said I needed some time."

"I know. And I'll walk away, but can you just hear me out?" He asked, looking her straight in the eyes. "Because you... I know what I feel about you. I know how much I miss talking to you at the end of every day. I know I keep ordering your favorite take-out. I know I dream about you. And," he swallowed and looked down, "I know I was a coward."

He looked back up to see her sipping her wine and looking out at the street. She was strong, and soft, and everything he'd ever wanted.

"I was coming to see you," he said. "That's the irony of it all. Oliver ambushed me at work to tell me I was an idiot for thinking I could decide for you. So I went back. But he was already there."

That brought her eyes back to his. He'd been sure she knew, whether from Oliver or just because she could read him so well, but there was shock and even some fear in her gaze.

"You came over that night?" Her voice was tight.

"Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair. "I get it. I can't… I don't deserve to be angry, because I walked away. It's everything I was afraid of – you and Oliver, the unstoppable star-crossed thing."

"Dammit, Tommy."

"I just, I wanted to say that I know I was a coward. And I was a coward that night, too. And I should have stayed, and talked to you, and done whatever I could to make this work. Because I want it to work." He blinked away the moisture in his eyes. "But I love you, Laurel. I meant it in CNRI, and I still do. And if you are sure that your happiness is with Oliver and not with me, I'll be ok. Somehow."

She closed her eyes for an excruciating minute, and Tommy forgot to breathe.

"Here's how this is going to go," she said finally, looking completely composed. "You are going to bring that ridiculously expensive bottle of wine inside and explain why you look like you haven't slept in three days. You are going to help me rescue the young woman who is currently being interrogated by my father. I am going to feed you lasagna. We are going to make awkward small talk. And you are not going to push. Do you think you can do that?"

He could feel his smile stretch from ear to ear. "I can do that."

"Good." She turned and opened the door. "Because I think Felicity is probably ready to bolt, and I have a few questions of my own for her."

Tommy froze in place. Felicity was here? Getting interrogated by Detective Lance? And Laurel wanted a go next – his feet finally moved, and he hurried to catch up to Laurel, wine bottle in hand. His new favorite blonde was going to need all the help she could get.

* * *

Laurel had hurried off with an expletive and her glass of wine, leaving Felicity with a knot in her stomach and Detective Quentin Lance.

"So, Ms. Smoak, glad you could make it." He poured himself a glass of water and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. He gestured for her to do the same. "You look like you were in the Glades yourself, that night."

She swirled her wine and tapped nervously at the table. "You said it was important that I come tonight?"

The detective sighed and set down his glass. "Let's be frank. You are the one and only person that I know for sure could give me everything I need on the vigilante."

"Detective," she said slowly, even as she could feel the blood draining from her face, "I thought you said…"

"No, I'm not arresting you. Haven't you heard? Now that the immediate crisis is past, I've been suspended pending an 'inquiry into my actions' the night of the quake," he said with a twisted smile. "But before I'm summoned to answer questions that could put you in a very awkward position, I need to know why."

"Why? I don't understand."

"I was so sure I knew who the vigilante was. I was convinced it was Oliver Queen, that he'd come back more warped by his time on that island than anyone realized." He took a sip of water and Felicity hid her face in her own glass. "But he's always alibied. So if it's not him, why has this guy been contacting me when he wants the police? Why does he keep involving my daughter?"

_Oh god._ Felicity took a deep breath. This was such a minefield, and every word mattered.

She knew Detective Lance had a toe over the "black and white" line; he'd believed them about the Undertaking when no one else would. But he also had the power to take the team apart with his suspicions. She silently debated using the "family that stands for justice" line, but part of her was sure she could just point out that he ran the task force searching for the vigilante so he was an obvious point of contact.

She must have been silent too long, because he stood up and started pacing the kitchen.

"I don't like using threats," he said. "They're not a big part of my repertoire, not really. But I don't know how else to explain this to you, Ms. Smoak. If you can't give me answers, the only thing I have to give my bosses is you."

"You're wrong." She couldn't believe she was saying it. But when he turned, his face a mask of disbelief, she told herself to channel her best Oliver Queen poker face and finish this out.

"About what?"

"I don't know who he is," she said.

"Bullshit."

"It's not, Detective." She was gaining confidence and momentum. "I work with computers. That's it. The vigilante reached out to me, but he keeps his voice masked if we talk, and even I can't find a digital fingerprint."

The detective slumped back down into his chair and brooded in her direction.

"Assuming I believe you, and I'm not sure I do, you can still answer the second part. Why Laurel?"

"The answer to that question is always because I'm brilliant, gorgeous and funny," Laurel said as she walked back into the room, Tommy Merlyn trailing behind her. He looked worse than he had the night before. Felicity stared at him in confusion, feeling a situation that she'd just barely had contained spin once more out of her control.

He winked at her, and then walked over and picked up the open wine bottle. "Nice choice," he said with a low whistle. "I always forget that you're a wine girl."

"Oh, no, Felicity brought-" "I just really enjoy red-"

Felicity and Laurel spoke up at the same time, and Felicity could sense the moment that both Lances realized what she'd inadvertently revealed.

She tensed, sure she'd made a crucial mistake in this game of lies and half-truths. But Tommy turned to Laurel with an easy smile.

"You didn't know? Felicity did work for Oliver and me in Verdant, she's a whiz with computers and networks and that stuff. And she has great taste in wine."

Laurel hesitated for a moment, her sharp eyes cutting between Tommy's confident ease and Felicity's uncertain tension. Then the buzzer went off, and she spun away to open the oven.

"Well, dinner is served. Tommy, since you're the uninvited drop-in, could you help Dad with the plates?"

Tommy's hesitation was so short Felicity thought she'd imagined it. But when he walked back past her chair, his murmured "be careful" was unmistakable.

She glanced in his direction, but he was already nodding to Detective Lance at the doorway to the next room.

"So, Detective, I was surprised you weren't part of the crew at the press conference a few days ago-"

The door swung shut behind them, muffling the rest of the sentence. Felicity looked up to find Laurel watching her again.

"So, you and Tommy know each other?"

"Not well." At least here she could be honest. "I think I've only had two or three actual conversations with him."

Laurel's grip on her spatula eased slightly. "Well he's still learning to communicate in non-billionaire playboy terms. Conversations are a bit of a stretch."

Felicity grinned. "Ouch. Don't hold back on my account."

"Ok, I won't." Finished slicing the lasagna, Laurel started arranging the garlic bread on a plate. "How do you know the vigilante?"

_Here we go._ "He found me." The still-closed door to the dining room offered no escape. "Uh, he got in touch electronically, for small things at first."

Like a bullet-riddled laptop, and military security on a flash drive. Or that damn syringe.

"Why didn't you go to the police?"

"Because it took me some time to put the pieces together." Because he's my boss. Because I believe in him, ultimately. "And once I did, I was worried that I'd already gotten too involved." And he was bleeding out in my car.

Laurel had laid her serving utensils down and was facing Felicity fully now.

"And why would you keep helping him after that?"

Felicity took a sip of her wine and worked to sound calm. "Have you met him, Ms. Lance?"

"It's Laurel," she said with an irritated wave of her hand. "And you know I have. A few times."

"Have you helped him?"

"Only when – only because there were no other options." Laurel's uncharacteristic stumble seemed to rattle her a bit. She drew herself up, cold and regal. "And I should never have done it. The law is the right way to fight the darkness, not his arrows and more darkness."

Her blindly self-righteous dismissal of Oliver's help, given without thought to the great risk to himself, made Felicity's shoulders clench.

"If you were so confident in the law, you wouldn't be trying to shield me from your father's questioning," she muttered.

The tension crackled in the air between them for a moment. Then Laurel visibly calmed herself.

"And Oliver?"

"I'm sorry?" The sudden shift in conversation – although they were discussing the same person – had her head spinning.

"How many _conversations_ have you had with Oliver Queen?"

"I don't appreciate the-"

"Just tell me." There was a hint of desperation in the statement. Laurel wasn't even trying to intimidate her.

The confident, capable woman who'd handled Tommy's appearance with composure and maneuvered her father out of the room was nowhere to be seen. In her place, Felicity was sure she was meeting the broken and angry girl who'd been left behind by a sister and a boyfriend in the most final of ways. The girl who might love him, but couldn't trust him.

"None like that."

Laurel turned back to the sink and stared out the window. Felicity couldn't tell if she believed her. "First of all, I appreciate the implication that I could, but Oliver Queen and I are from entirely different universes. Secondly, and I like you so I'm going to say this gently: shouldn't you be asking him that question?"

* * *

Felicity had managed about six bites of a delicious dinner between awkward small talk carried mostly by Tommy and his ineffable good humor. Laurel had recovered her poise, but she'd only looked in Felicity's direction a few times. Grabbing the garlic bread plate and retreating to the dining room had been cowardly, maybe, but Felicity had just told Oliver's ideal woman to have him confirm his absolute lack of romantic feelings toward her. Why shouldn't she get to bury her sorrows in butter and red wine?

When her phone rang, she was almost glad for the interruption. Until she glanced at the screen. The number was unlisted, but Felicity had her suspicions as to who would be on the other end when she answered.

"Sorry, it's my mother. I'll just step out and see what she wants?"

She could feel three sets of eyes on her as she hurried away. It was with considerable irritation that she jabbed at the button to answer the call.

"This better be important."

"What are you doing?" Oliver sounded more tired than he had earlier that evening. That must be why his voice had an edge she didn't often hear.

"Eating dinner."

"With Laurel and her father? Why the hell is Tommy there?"

She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. If he was- "Are you upstairs or something?" She would kill him. That would solve so many of her problems.

"Tommy texted me."

"Oh, good. Nice to know what team he's playing for."

"Felicity."

"Technically I don't work for you at the moment," she whispered, too paranoid to snap it at him like she wanted. "So follow me home if it makes you feel better, but don't you try to tell me what to do until you're paying me in some way."

"This isn't about-"

There were footsteps coming down the hall. Felicity cut him off in a rush.

"Ok, mom. Love you too. I'll see you next week. Tuesday, yeah. Bye."

When she turned around, Tommy raised one sardonic eyebrow.

"Mother causing problems?"

"Always."

He smiled, clearly aware who they were referring to. "You up for dessert or shall I make your excuses?"

"I gotta say," she tucked her phone away, ignoring the vibration of text messages arriving, "this is a lousy date. You need to work on your game." His double take made her grin. At least with Tommy she didn't have to be careful.

"I can see how a date that includes the woman I love and her father, who may or may not want to arrest you, might be sending some mixed signals," he shook his head with mock resignation. "I hope this doesn't mean you're giving up on me. You're a damn good drinking buddy."

"Same," she said. "And I'll let you know Tuesday if your services are required. Now tell me dessert is cannoli."

* * *

**A/N:** At long last, the dreaded dinner. I hope it was worth the wait. Tons of hugs to Abbie for all of her help getting this one rolling.


End file.
